


All I Want for Christmas…

by LadyMyfanwy



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:45:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMyfanwy/pseuds/LadyMyfanwy
Summary: What to give a man who has everything he could ever want? Oh, what a Christmas dilemma!





	All I Want for Christmas…

1 December 2017

“So, who’s your favourite author, Yan?” Jack’s tone was completely and deliberately nonchalant and his question had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that they happened to be in St David’s Dewi Sant, a bustling shopping mall close to the Hub, browsing the shelves at the booksellers.

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Ian Fleming,” Ianto answered automatically, so caught up in the pages of an intriguing new spy mystery set in the 1940’s at the height of the war that he didn’t register Jack’s attempt at casual subterfuge until it was too late.

“Ah…” Jack’s glance around the shop was just wee bit too shifty. 

Watching the man out of the corner of his eye, Ianto grinned into his book. ‘If he’s not careful he’ll get us done on suspicion of shoplifting!’

*****

5 December 2017 

Jack had dragged Ianto to the Queen’s Arcade on the pretext of needing to find something special for Martha and Tom’s upcoming wedding. Ianto had mentally rolled his eyes; their wedding was in June, more than seven months away. ‘Even if he does buy something today he’ll only find something better next week.’

The mall – in fact, all of Cardiff – was abound with Christmas spirit. There were garlands and wreaths gaily festooning every shop, tree and lamppost, and like the stars in the night sky, twinkling lights made the streets glow.

Like he did every year, Jack was fishing for ideas on what to get Ianto for Christmas. When asked outright, Ianto’s response to the question was always, “I have everything I want.”

Three years ago, trying to be devious, Jack had left over a dozen catalogues offering everything from men’s clothing to office and home decor, and from sex toys to luxury food items. Without batting an eye, Ianto had hi-lighted every single item in the foods catalogue and tossed all the others in the recycle bin. Well… not all the others; the glossy book of sex toys and outfits, accessories and accoutrement he’d hidden in his desk down in the Archives. ‘Never can tell when this will come in handy,’ he’d silently declared with a naughty arch of an eyebrow.

Last year Jack had tasked Tosh and Gwen into discovering what Ianto would like, bribing them with a pair of new shoes each. They both came back with the same response: “Ianto says he already has everything he wants.” 

They still got their shoes.

***** 

12 December 2017

With a loud huff of exertion, Jack and Ianto heaved the dead weight of a rather plump and sedated Weevil into the back of the SUV, then turned to lean against the vehicle and catch their breath. This one in particular had been quite disagreeable when torn away from the garbage bin behind the local bakery. Apparently, the baker had gotten distracted by a misbehaving child having a tantrum in the front of the shop and had forgotten about a large batch of gingerbread in the oven. It was too burnt to sell, but that just made it all the tastier to a Weevil with an overdeveloped sweet tooth.

“Oh, no, Yan!” Jack suddenly exclaimed with great dismay. “It looks like you need a new suit!”

Slightly confused because he knew he hadn’t torn his jacket or trousers, Ianto glanced down to see what Jack was worried about. “Jack, it’s just a loose button. I do not need a new suit.” Seeing the way Jack’s shoulders drooped with dejection, the younger man arched an eyebrow and grinned. “But you can take down my particulars later tonight, if you want.”

Jack Harkness’ smile lit up his face like the proverbial Christmas tree. He loved, loved, loved playing tailor with his beloved Welshman because Ianto had such… interesting… things to measure.

***** 

16 December 2017 

Coming up behind Ianto in the kitchen, Jack wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist and ‘helped’ make their morning coffee. He was fresh from the shower and still wearing a towel slung low on his hips while Ianto was in trousers and a half-buttoned shirt; his waistcoat and tie were still in the bedroom, lying on the bed next to Jack’s clothes for the day.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Jack murmured and then kissed the tip of Ianto’s ear which was turning pink with embarrassment. Even after more than five years together, Ianto occasionally still blushed when complimented. 

“Bore da, Cariad.” Ianto turned and kissed Jack before handing him a mug of steaming hot, industrial-strength coffee. “Cysgwch yn dda?”

Hearing Ianto speaking Welsh was always a guaranteed turn-on for Jack, but he ruthlessly clamped down on his libido; he was a man on a mission this morning. “You know, I was thinking…”

“Bet that hurt,” Ianto quipped with a cheeky grin as he slipped just out of Jack’s reach.

“Watch it!” Jack lunged toward him, hands outstretched and intent on tickling, but Ianto laughed and danced around, putting the table between them. After making a few unsuccessful moves, Jack knew when he was beat, so he leaned back against the counter and took a long sip of his coffee. “One of your best blends, Yan.”

Ianto smiled fondly; Jack said the same thing every time he changed the variety of beans in his homemade coffee blends. “Thank you.” He sipped his own cup and nodded in agreement; it was a very good mix. “Now, you were thinking? About what?”

“I noticed the tie you picked out for today and that made me remember one I saw Monday while we were buying me new underwear. It was a really pretty shade of red and in the right light, you could see there were tiny threads of gold woven through. Think it might look nice with my black suit? The one I’m wearing to Martha’s wedding?” He peered at Ianto over the rim of his mug.

“Huh…” Ianto didn’t fall for the trick. “Might do,” he agreed after a moment’s consideration, “but I thought you had decided on the soft grey suit.”

“I can change my mind, you know.” Jack drained his coffee in one long gulp and didn’t quite slam the mug down in the sink before stomping off in a definitely not childish way to the bedroom to get dressed. Yet another attempt to find out what Ianto wanted for Christmas had just gone down the drain. 

***** 

24 December 2017

There was now just one shopping day left til Christmas and Jack was absolutely desperate. He had run out of questions and hints. 

Yesterday had been the final straw. He’d sent the others home for the evening and gone down into the Archives to see if Ianto was ready to go to dinner. Halfway down the stairs he’d heard the soft sounds of holiday music playing and then to his delight, he heard Ianto’s lush tenor voice begin to sing along.

“It came upon the midnight clear,  
that glorious song of old,  
from angels bending near the Earth  
to touch their harps of gold.”

Unable to resist, Jack stepped into the room and joined in. Surprised, Ianto spun around but didn’t stop singing along with the radio. 

"Peace on the Earth, good will to men,  
from heaven's all-gracious King."  
The world in solemn stillness lay,  
to hear the angels sing.”

When the traditional hymn was over, Jack pulled Ianto into his arms and hugged him. “You have such a beautiful voice, Yan. You should sing more often.” 

“I didn’t know you were there.” Ianto was flustered and his cheeks were flushed pink with pleasure at the compliment.

“Good, I’m glad. If you had you would have stopped.” Jack kissed his lover. “I would have missed out. It was a special treat, getting to sing with you. Thank you.”

Ianto set the last of the files he’d been working on atop the filing cabinet and led Jack from the storage room, snapping off the light as they headed for his office. “Am I running late?” He snagged his jacket from the back of his chair.

“No, not at all,” Jack shook his head. “Just wondered if you wanted to go out to eat, get a takeaway or stop at the market and get something to make at home. Your choice.”

“Let’s stop at Tesco’s; we need milk, bread, eggs… I have a list.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. “It’s not much and then I’ll make you breakfast, how’s that sound?”

Jack hummed with delight; he loved having breakfast for dinner, especially because they always ate in the lounge, wearing their pyjamas and lying on their bellies on the floor in front of the telly, just like big kids. “Deal!”

Later as he wheeled their trolley along and watched Ianto set things in the basket, Jack noticed an advert tucked into the magazine rack and he had what he thought was a stroke of genius. “Hey, Yan?”

“Hmmm?” Ianto was comparing the labels on two different packets of chocolate biscuits, trying to decide if one was any healthier than the other. ‘Who cares?’ he mentally snorted and placed both brands in the cart. ‘They’re chocolate!’

“Have you ever thought about doing a cookery course? They’re doing one called ‘Loving Welsh Food’ over at Cardiff Castle.” 

Ianto frowned. “I already know how to cook Welsh food, Jack.”

“Oh…” Jack thought for a moment. “How about some other kind? There’s Chinese or French or Mexican, even.”

“I’ve never really thought about it.” Ianto led the way to the dairy section and quickly added milk, eggs and butter to their basket before wandering over to the bakery. “Maybe someday, when we have the time, yeah, I suppose it would be fun to go to class together. We just don’t have the time right now.” After choosing a dozen muffins to take into work the next day and setting those and some bread in the seat of the trolley, he headed over to the frozen foods aisle. Somehow, his dash into the store to pick up his short list of essentials had turned into a major shopping event.

Given Ianto’s non-interest in learning to cook, Jack heaved a huge sigh of disappointment as he decided to give up trying to find out what his lovely but stubborn Welshman wanted for Christmas. ‘I guess I’ll just tuck a few gift cards in an envelope,’ he thought morosely. ‘Not very Christmasy, though.’

However, at 3.47 am, in the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning, a truly inspired thought struck as he was returning from a quick trip to the loo; he went back to sleep with a smile on his face.

***** 

Now it was Christmas Eve Day, and after arriving at the Hub and waiting for Ianto to deliver his coffee then disappear into the Archives for a while, Jack made a quick phone call. With his plan in place, he keyed his comms. 

“Hey, Ianto? Wanna come up here?”

“Is it an emergency?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want more coffee?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Then give me five minutes to finish this and I’ll be right up.”

True to his word, Ianto appeared in the door of Jack’s office exactly five minutes later. “You rang, Sir?”

“Just found an email from Tosh saying we’re past due for a visit to Memories & Antiquities; she says we should have gone way back in September for our quarterly rummage.”

Ianto cast his mind back. “No one went?” 

Jack shook his head. “It was the girls’ turn but she and Gwen were both down with the flu, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Ianto shuddered. “How could I forget about that?” Thanks to Owen and his judicious use of alien tech, what could have been a week or more of hacking and coughing, runny noses and watery eyes, achy bodies and frayed tempers, had been reduced to a mere three days. Still, Ianto had been run ragged catering to two sick, cranky and needy women, providing them with endless cups of tea, filling hot water bottles, replenishing boxes of tissues and emptying overflowing wastepaper bins.

Jack grimaced; he’d spent the entire three days behind the locked door of his office, hiding from Gwen, who seemed determined to share her germs with him the few times he’d tried to venture out. ‘Thank God I have a bathroom down in my bunker!’ 

“There’s nothing going on with the Rift and no one’s coming in til about three, so let’s get this done and then we’ll have a wander down by the Bay. Maybe get some fish-and-chips for lunch?” The immortal was reaching for his greatcoat as he spoke but Ianto somehow managed to get across the room and as usual, was already holding it out for him.

“Sounds like a plan,” Ianto smiled brightly. “Just let me get my coat and don’t forget your gloves this time. It’s still cold out there.” The temperature had dipped considerably during the night and the morning had dawned cold, damp and overcast, which had led to Jack’s complaining non-stop about how cold his hands were as they’d driven into work.

The drive was quick, but they had to park nearly three blocks away from the shop; seemed like everyone was out doing last minute shopping, although that didn’t bother Jack and Ianto. As they strolled along hand-in-hand, they admired the window displays and made a game of skill out of dodging shoppers who were determined to get into stores before anyone else. Whichever one got knocked into the least amount of times would be the winner; loser paid for lunch.

When Jack opened the door of Memories & Antiquities, Ianto smiled at the cheerful little tinkle of the bell above the entrance; his tad had had one just like it in his tailor’s shop. Ianto remembered as a boy peeking out through the beaded curtain to see who had come into the shop and what patterns and materials his tad was going to show them. He especially liked when his tad did the fittings; the way his hands moved over the fabric, the way his chalk marked the changes, and the calming, natural way his tad kept his customers at ease.

“Mr Harkness! Mr Jones!” A short, round man with a bald head and spectacles perched on his nose came from the back room to greet them. “How nice to see you again! It has been far too long.” He embraced them both. “What can I do for you today, my friends?”

“Happy Christmas, Mr Malcolm,” Ianto returned the hug warmly. “How are you keeping this winter?”

“Can’t complain, warm as toast,” the shopkeeper winked, “thanks to your lovely gift last year.”

Ianto inclined his head. “It was our pleasure, really.”

Of Torchwood Three, only Jack and Ianto knew that Douglas Malcolm was actually Tradan Wicklesby-Wengle, an alien refugee from the 44th century who’d fallen through the Rift in 1937. Unless he removed his shirt and exposed the beautifully patterned pigments of colour that swirled about his torso, no one would ever know he wasn’t human. He and Jack had quickly become fast friends after Jack had been the one to stumble across him down by the docks the night he’d arrived, and the immortal had protected him ever since, keeping him from becoming a victim of Torchwood and a resident of its cells.

Knowing that Malcolm suffered terribly from the cold, Ianto had gifted him with a harmless energy cell he’d discovered in the Archives. Knowing Jack’s affection for the old man, convincing him to let the alien have a source of permanent warmth he could wear around his neck had been a piece of cake.

“Miss Sato reminded me that we missed our scheduled rummage a few months ago.” Jack was already poking through the bins and shelves packed with things both valuable and useless. Malcolm did a brisk business; he was known for giving a good price for the items he bought and he rarely turned a seller down. As a result, there was a good turnover of merchandise as he sold his goods for less than most other shops like his in Cardiff.

Occasionally, the team found a piece of alien tech mixed in amongst the thousands of items Malcolm collected, and when the alien found something he knew shouldn’t be in the hands of 21st century humans, he always called Jack. 

Over the next half hour or so, Jack and Ianto poked into every nook and cranny they could, not really expecting to find anything that shouldn’t be there, but because the variety of stuff on display was just mind boggling. Jack and Malcolm enjoyed sharing stories with Ianto about this old thing or that interesting item, how or where they’d first encountered whatever it was, what it was used for, how, by whom and when. Anyone else would have been bored to tears by the old fogies’ trips down memory lane, but to Ianto’s archivist mind, it was a history lesson that could never be taught in school and he soaked it up like a sponge. 

Every few minutes, Jack would call Ianto’s attention to something or another, asking his opinion both personal and professional. “Hey, Yan, guess what this is!” or “Do you think this might be useful back at the Hub?” or even, “What do ya think, could we get Owen to believe this is a medical thing-a-ma-bob?”

Ianto knew exactly what Jack was up to and he never once took the bait, although his heart did skip a beat… or two, when Jack called him over to the glass case where Malcolm kept a small collection of valuable jewellery items and held up an antique silver pocket watch complete with fob and chain. 

“Malcolm, this is beautiful!” Jack enthused. “Where did you find this?” He handed the watch to Ianto and turned back to his old friend, all the while keeping Ianto in the corner of his eye.

With a reverent touch, Ianto accepted the pocket watch and held it in the palm of his hand. It was a work of art, easily one-hundred-and-fifty-years old if not more, and the silver case was engraved with an intricately designed Welsh dragon. He gently pressed the button on top and the case opened smoothly. He noticed the face of the watch first; protected by the crystal he saw a beautifully detailed and enamelled daffodil blossom framed on either side by small leeks, both traditional symbols of Wales. Ianto marvelled at the complexity of the work; there was even a pair of dewdrops on one petal and on another, a dewdrop was poised to drop from the very tip of a petal. 

As he went to close the watch and return it to Jack, he finally saw the inscription on the inside of the cover. It was in Welsh, ‘Bydd yn caru chi nes fy nghalon stopio curo, hyd at ddiwedd amser ei hun’, and Ianto whispered the words to himself: “I will love you until my heart stops beating, until the end of time itself.”

Without warning, tears pricked his eyes and he hastily turned away so that Jack wouldn’t see; he was completely unaware that Jack could see everything being reflected in the large gilt mirror behind the display. Ianto knew the sentiment had been engraved many, many decades earlier, but every word made him think of Jack; it was heart-wrenching. 

Drawing a deep if shaky breath, Ianto plastered a smile on his face and turned back to Jack. “It’s a beautiful time piece, Sir, but definitely not of improper or alien persuasion.” He set the watch in Jack’s outstretched hand, slowly coiling the chain down and then gently laying the fob on top before turning and slipping away into the closest aisle.

Despite Ianto believing that Jack hadn’t noticed his interest, the immortal knew his husband too well. He’d seen the way Ianto’s pupils had dilated for a moment, and the way his long fingers had caressed the watch as he’d whispered the inscription to himself. Seeing the tears that came to Ianto’s eyes was completely unexpected and Jack wished he had taken the time to learn Welsh. 

Feeling quite pleased with himself, Jack tipped the shopkeeper the nod as he replaced the watch in the display case; everything had to look open-and-above-board just in case Ianto should come looking again. Jack didn’t expect Ianto to return, ‘but with my Welshman, anything is possible.’ Jack had made an arrangement during that morning’s phone call that should Ianto show a true interest in anything, Malcolm would gift-wrap the item the moment the men left the shop, setting it aside until Jack could slip back in on some pretext and collect it. 

“Mr Malcolm, it has been a pleasure as always, my friend.” Jack embraced the elderly man tightly, finding comfort in the gesture.

“And you, Mr Harkness,” Malcolm patted Jack on the back before releasing him and turning to Ianto, who also willingly hugged the alien. “Mr Jones, take care until we meet again.”

“It has been my honour, Mr Malcolm,” Ianto responded in kind. “Perhaps you will take tea with us during the holidays?”

There was a distinct twinkle in the alien shopkeeper’s eyes. “Nothing would please me more, Mr Jones.”

“Then it is settled.” Ianto nodded. “I will send the invitation in the next few days.”

To an outsider, the conversations between the men would seem stilted and much too formal for the current climate, but for Douglas Malcolm it was the norm and Ianto especially enjoyed sharing in the alien’s manners. On Eckhirl 9, Malcolm’s homeworld, courtesy to and respect for others were the true measure of a man. It was unthinkable to address another by their first name unless that person was a close family member and the exchange took place within the home, behind closed doors, so to speak.

Even though it made continuing their game of ‘dodge-the-desperate-last-minute-shopper’ game a lot more difficult given the increase in foot traffic, Jack clasped Ianto’s hand in his, and his step was light as the men walked back towards the car. 

“I really like that man,” Jack announced as he nimbly side-stepped a woman obviously at the end of her rope as she dragged a screaming child along with her. “Why don’t we do all the visits ourselves?”

“Because then Gwen would never learn to identify alien artefacts, much less be able to decipher the difference between a five-pound ostrich egg and a Slattie research vessel.” Ianto sighed deeply as he remembered the royal bollocking he’d received from the occupants of said vessel after Gwen, trying to prove once again that she knew more than Toshiko, had grabbed what she swore was just a big egg from Tosh’s desk, taking it up to Ianto’s small kitchen. Then before Ianto could stop her, she’d had the nerve to smash it open with the milk frothing pot from Ianto’s coffee machine. 

The tiny Slattern, having endured an unexpected trip through the Rift, barely survived Gwen’s assault with their lives.

Jack laughed as he shared Ianto’s memory. Slatterns were less than three inches high, but their indignation was six feet tall at least. Gwen had taken one look at the angry little creatures tumbling out of the fractured egg and she’d run from the kitchen like the beasts of Hell were on her heels. Ianto had been left behind to bear the brunt of anger from six intrepid space explorers, whose tempers were finally soothed when they got their first taste of Ianto’s coffee… grounds. Ianto had accidentally dropped a few on the counter while preparing coffee for the team briefing in the boardroom and one daring Slattern had picked up a morsel to taste. His overwhelming excitement quickly had his fellow traveller gobbling up the bitter little crumbs. After Tosh had successfully repaired their ship, Ianto had presented each Slattern with a carefully wrapped selection of grounds from his very best blends.

“Oh!” Jack stopped on the corner and made a dramatic production of searching his coat and slapping at his pockets. “My gloves!” he exclaimed. “I think I left my gloves with Mr Malcolm! Wait right here, Yan.” He spun on his heel and headed back for the shop; Ianto could hear him muttering loudly, “Yes, they’re on the counter…” as he hurried away.

With a long-suffering roll of his eyes, Ianto continued on towards the SUV, planning to swing around the block and pick Jack up as he left the shop. ‘Jack is as see-through as a window,’ he thought fondly. He was actually quite touched that Jack had gone through such a charade just to get him the perfect Christmas gift. 

***** 

25 December 2017 

Christmas Day dawned beautifully; the sky was a crystal-clear blue and the air was crisp and clean but it was still very cold. Ianto was first up, leaving Jack to sleep a little longer. He switched on the Christmas tree lights and then started the coffee maker, knowing the scent of the fresh brew would wake his lover for sure. As he was pulling bacon, eggs, mushrooms and cheese from the refrigerator he felt loving arms wrap around him and he straightened to receive a sleepy, whiskery kiss from the man he loved.

“Nadolig Ilawen, Annwyl,” he murmured, handing the omelette ingredients to Jack before turning back for the jug of cream for Jack’s coffee. “Sweet dreams last night?"

Before going to bed, Jack and Ianto had taken it in turns to read Clement Moore’s ‘The Night Before Christmas’, while drinking hot chocolate topped with lots of mini-marshmallows and stirred with a peppermint stick. 

“Yep,” Jack poured his coffee and added a generous dollop of rich cream. Once upon a time, a long time ago, Ianto had tried to teach him to put the cream in first and then the coffee, but Jack had stubbornly refused to change his ways, saying that by putting the cold cream in last it cooled the hot liquid to the perfect drinking temperature. He then poured a second mug and handed it to Ianto, who liked his steaming hot and undiluted by cream or sugar. 

Ianto waited, knowing it was coming…

“All five of my sugarplum faeries had a lovely blue-green tinge to their skin, and both their heads were rather large, but their tutus were so sparkly and pretty.” Jack’s eyes twinkled. “But all in all, yeah, their dancing was great.”

Ianto snorted his coffee over the rim of his mug. “You dreamed of two-headed sugarplum faeries?” 

“Well, yeah. They’re from Discorn’s third moon, some of the best dancers in the galaxy.” Jack looked a bit confused. “Why, what did yours look like?”

“I… they were…” Ianto stammered and began to concentrate on cracking eggs into a bowl. “What all do you want in your omelette?”

Troubled by his young lover’s behaviour, Jack stopped an egg in mid-crack and turned Ianto to face him. “Didn’t you have sweet dreams, Yan?”

Caught by the look of sincere concern in Jack’s eyes, Ianto couldn’t stop his confession from spilling from his lips. “I did, Jack, I had the best dreams I could ever have hoped for. I dreamt of you, of us, last night.”

Happiness made Jack’s face glow. “Yeah? What were we doing? Would Santa blush and put us on the Naughty List?”

“No, we are definitely still on the Nice List, Cariad.” Ianto laughed. “We were very old men, with silvery-grey hair and wrinkles, and you had a cane, and we were sitting in matching rocking chairs watching four generations of our family open their gifts. The tree was enormous, there was a roaring fire and the Welsh Men’s Choir were singing old-fashioned carols over the radio.”

Dumbfounded, it took Jack several seconds to react, but then he put down his mug and gathered Ianto in his arms, holding him as closely and tightly as he could without completely squishing his beloved Welshman. A large lump in his throat prevented him speaking, but Jack poured as much love into his hug as he possibly could.

“Cariad? Are you all right?” 

He heard the hitch in Jack’s breath, felt the man trembling in his arms. 

“I love you too, Jack,” he whispered, carding his fingers through his immortal lover’s hair. “So, so much.”

“Hmm-mmm…” Jack managed to get out.

***** 

“Now?” Jack whinged as he came back into the kitchen and ineffectually flapped a tea towel at the breakfast table, knocking a few toast crumbs onto the floor and hoping Ianto didn’t notice. “I wanna open presents now!”

Ianto barely stifled a giggle. “What are you, five?” He shooed Jack out of the way so he could open the oven door and slide the stuffed turkey in. He was working to a mental schedule; ‘so, three-and-a-half hours to roast the bird, let it sit for twenty before carving.’ He did some quick maths in his head. ‘The sprouts will take thirty minutes, so they can go in as soon as the bird comes out.’ He’d discovered a recipe in one of Gwen’s endless supply of magazines for roasted Brussel sprouts with red grapes and walnuts, and the glossy photo made the dish look so delicious. ‘I wonder if I should add bacon? Everything is better with bacon.’

Taking one last look at his kitchen, making sure that he’d done as much prep work as he could, Ianto took Jack’s hand in his and led him into the lounge. The sight that awaited him had the young man stopping in the doorway. While he’d been working on their Christmas dinner, Jack had been busy as well. Candles – red, green and white – in different shapes and sizes had been set out around the room. There were large pillar candles standing guard on the side tables and a row of tall beeswax tapers marched across the mantle, their dancing flames reflected in the antique mirror behind them.

On the coffee table, in the centre of a holly wreath, little tea lights gleamed from inside a glass bowl filled with water, where they floated on the surface, and a five-branch silver candelabra that had been passed down to the eldest Jones’ son through the generations from Ianto’s great-great-grandparents stood at attention on the dining room table. The curtains were closed against the winter chill, there was soft music playing, and the fireplace had been lit. The effect was magical; room was warm and cosy, perfect for Christmas morning.

“Oh, Jack…” Ianto’s eyes were filled with tears as he pulled the man into a passionate kiss, only separating when the dire need for oxygen started making them woozy. 

“Do you like it then?”

“You Twpsyn,” Ianto laughed softly, his face simply glowing with happiness. “It’s just… it’s… it’s perfect, Jack, absolutely perfect.”

“Good.” Jack shoved him towards the sofa. “That’s what I was going for. Now sit down so we can open presents! Now!”

***** 

Jack was happily ensconced on the floor in front of the sofa, a small heap of gaily coloured wrapping paper and ribbons on one side of him and his pile of presents on the other. He was thrumming with pleasure as he surveyed his holiday booty; Gwen and Rhys had given him a 1:72 scale model airplane kit so he could build his own Spitfire just like the one he’d flown for King and country in WWII. 

At the Aberystwyth Seashore Festival, Toshiko had found a beautiful scarf hand-knit from Welsh wool, in a shade of grey just a bit darker than his great coat, with threads of pale blue running through it. It was as soft as silk, and Jack ran his fingers over it again and again, marvelling at the fine workmanship. 

Owen had once again gifted him with whisky; this year it was a selection of twelve miniature bottles, each a representative of the best of Scotland’s distilleries. He noticed the distinctive labels of Islay and Ben Nevis, Speyside and Laphroaig amongst the others nestled in the velvet lining of a beautifully carved wooden box.

Ianto’s gifts from the team included five pounds of the best coffee beans available from regions Ianto hadn’t tried before, including India, Honduras and Indonesia from Owen; Ianto had grinned, ‘snarky little git will be champing at the bit for cups of these brews.’ 

He had received a selection of handmade mochi Japanese rice cakes which Toshiko had had sent to her from a specialist shop in Kyoto that had been in business for nearly six hundred years. Each one was a piece of perfection, a delicate work of art hand-moulded in pastel-coloured sweetened rice.

Last and most assuredly least, was a rather garish polyester tie which Gwen had grabbed at the last minute from the TK Maxx discount clothing store. Jack had laughed so hard he’d almost thrown up his breakfast when he’d seen the hideous thing, finally remarking that the neon-coloured cacti crawling across the tie’s surface could probably be seen from space. Ianto had had no problem agreeing with that.

They hadn’t given one another their own gifts yet, Ianto wanting to do theirs last. “Just give me a tic to check on the turkey bird and brew us some fresh coffee, yeah?”

His child-like glee about opening such lovely Christmas presents momentarily sated, Jack welcomed another cup of coffee, especially since Ianto had chosen to try a packet of beans from India. While he listened to the sounds of Ianto pottering in the kitchen, Jack looked at the coffees Owen had given his tea-boy. One in particular caught his attention, ‘Black Ivory’, grown in Thailand. As he read the label, certain phrases jumped out at him and he burst into nearly hysterical guffaws of laughter.  
“Jack…?” Ianto stuck his head around the door frame. 

With tears streaming down his cheeks as he rolled on the pile of used wrapping paper still laughing, all Jack could do was wave the bag of beans in the air and gasp out the word, “…poo…!”

“What?” With a quick glance back to see the progress of the coffee maker, Ianto managed to get his hand on the bag. As he read the words that had set Jack into paroxysms of laughter, thunder began to gather on Ianto’s face, his eyes darkening and his lips thinning with anger.

‘…coffee beans are naturally refined by Thai elephants…’ and ‘…once deposited by the elephants…’ 

“Bloody hell!” Ianto was livid. “These beans have been shat out by bloody great elephants!”

Hearing Ianto’s indignation and seeing the look on his Welshman’s face was enough to send Jack off again, rolling around on the floor, clutching his stomach and roaring with breathless laughter.

“Wha ha ha ha ha…! Told… you! Poooo!”

Ianto tried his best to hold onto his anger but Jack’s laugh was just too infectious. It started with a grin, then a giggle and a snort, and finally Ianto was sat on the floor laughing along with Jack. At last, both men settled down enough to catch their breath.

After crawling under the sofa to retrieve the bag – how it had landed there he had no idea – Ianto studied the label a little closer.

‘Black Ivory Coffee contributes 8% of their sales to help fund a specialist elephant veterinarian to provide free care to all the elephants of Thailand through the Golden Triangle Asian Elephant Foundation.’

‘Additional funds are also used to purchase medicine as well as to build a new laboratory. Production of Black Ivory Coffee also provides valuable income generation for the wives of the mahouts to help support aging parents, cover health expenses, school fees, food, and clothing.’ 

Ianto cocked his head, considering the true impact of the gift he held in his hand. Owen might have thought he was getting a good one over on him, but at the same time, Ianto realised that the acerbic doctor was actually doing a very good thing. ‘These beans have got to be very expensive, considering how labour intensive they must be.’

“So, are you actually gonna drink the stuff?” Jack giggled like a schoolboy. “Elephant poo? Oh!” His hands flapped about as a thought struck. “Let’s make sure that Owen drinks the very first cup! He’ll have poo breath!” and with that proclamation, Jack was off his nut laughing again. 

With a loving but exasperated shake of his head, Ianto returned to the sanctuary of his kitchen and the pure sanity that was a Brussel sprout.

***** 

Meeting ‘coincidentally’ in the lobby of Ianto’s building, Toshiko and Owen arrived at the flat he shared with Jack together; Tosh carried flowers and Owen, a bottle of good wine. They were quite looking forward to sharing Christmas dinner with their friends; fortunately, Gwen and Rhys were spending the day with Rhys’ parents, although truth be told, the foursome would have gladly welcomed Rhys to their holiday table. Gwen, however… Despite being married to Rhys for more than two years, and ignoring the fact that she had attended Jack and Ianto’s wedding just eight months before, Gwen persisted in her moony-eyed, hero-worshipping pursuit of one oblivious-to-her-dubious-charms Captain Jack Harkness-Jones.

Ever the romantic, although he worked hard to hide it, Jack was thrilled to see that Tosh and Owen had finally gotten their act in gear and realised they were meant for one another, even if they weren’t quite ready to make their relationship known. He’d spent so much time standing at the window of his office, looking down on his team and watching the pair glance at each other with obvious longing and affection. He and Ianto had agreed that having their friends over for their first Christmas as a married couple was just icing on their holiday cake.

***** 

“Ianto, you really outdid yourself this time,” Tosh slid the last plate into the dishpan of soapy water and then hugged her best friend. “Everything was just delicious.” 

Jack added a handful of dirty silverware to the water. “How do you know I didn’t cook something?” He gave an exaggerated pout as he bumped Tosh with his hip, gently pushing her out of the way so he could plant a kiss on the side of Ianto’s head. “One of your best ever, Yan,” he whispered.

Tosh looked at the older man with fond annoyance. “Did you make anything we just ate?”

“Well, no, but I snogged the heck out of the cook!” He grabbed Ianto and swept him into a low dip, locking their lips together in a passionate kiss. 

Owen appeared at that moment, carrying the wine glasses. “Harkness! Get off the tea-boy!”

Jack released Ianto and turned to his medic with a leer. “Why? You jealous?”

“It’s not that!” he protested. “Ianto prepares food in here!”

Jack have a bark of laughter. “Then you really don’t want to know what happened on that counter!” He pointed at the one Owen was leaning against, making the wiry little man leap away in horror.

“Oh no, you didn’t…!” Completely grossed out, Owen danced around the kitchen like a skinny little spider, afraid to touch anything, as visions of naked Jack laid out on the kitchen table invaded his brain.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, you two.” Ianto planted his hands on his hips in classic parental ‘if you two don’t knock it off right now you’re going to your rooms’ pose. “Nobody has been naked in my kitchen, much less doing anything unspeakable on my counters. I mean, really!”

It was all Jack could do to keep a straight face as shock and pride at how well Ianto could lie though his teeth ran through him. ‘Damn, Yan, you’ve gotten too good at this.’ 

***** 

“This has been an absolutely perfect Christmas, Ianto.” Jack settled back on the sofa, wrapped his arm around his husband and pulled Ianto in close to him. “The food was delicious, I’m thrilled Tosh and Owen are together, but most of all, I’m grateful I could share it all with you.”

Ianto snuggled into Jack’s embrace. “Me, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

Silence reigned for a while as each man thought about the day, cementing every moment of the day in their memories; Jack would re-live the good times – and the bad – he spent with Ianto for millennia to come.

Thinking that Ianto had dozed off, Jack pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered, “You awake, Yan?”

“Oh yeah,” Ianto turned to Jack with a brilliant smile. 

“Wanna do our presents now? I have something special for you.”

Ianto kissed Jack, just a chaste peck on the lips. “I have something special for you too.”

“Ooo! Me first!” Jack shoved his hand down between the sofa cushions and drew out a small, elegantly wrapped box, holding it out to Ianto as if it were the greatest of treasures.

Carefully, long nimble fingers untied the gold ribbon and set it aside before carefully lifting the tape and releasing the paper – deep red with tiny gold stars scattered across it; he smoothed it out and folded it neatly then set it with the ribbon. With a gentle snap he lifted the lid of the black jeweller’s box to find the silver pocket watch from Memories & Antiquities lying in a nest of velvet.

“Oh, Jack, you shouldn’t have,” Ianto gasped with delight. 

“Don’t be silly, it is clearly meant for you.” Jack lifted it from the box and clicked the button on top. “Tell me what it says?”

Ianto looked at the inscription again, each word touching his heart. “It says, ‘I will lo…” Emotion grabbed his voice; he cleared his throat and tried again. “I will love you until my heart stops beating, until the end of time itself.”

“Really?” Jack stared at his beloved Welshman. “That’s exactly how I feel, Ianto, exactly.”

“Me too.” Ianto stroked the side of Jack’s face. “Exactly.” Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he rose from the sofa. “Close your eyes and I’ll be right back.” He crossed over to the desk, pulled something from the bottom drawer and then plopped back down next to Jack. “Hold out your hand… okay, now open.”

“It’s an envelope,” he murmured. “Am I mailing something for you?”

“Twpsyn,” Ianto poked at him. “Open it!”

Ever the dutiful husband, Jack did as instructed and withdrew a plastic card. “Okaaaay… What’s this?”

“This is three nights in a beautiful suite at St David’s Hotel,” Ianto smiled. “No TV, no visitors, no Rift, no Weevils and no telephones. Just us, in that room, for as long as it takes. Just me…” he kissed Jack, “and you.”

“Yan, this is great!” Jack threw his arms around his beloved Welshman and hugged him tightly. “But why didn’t you tell me this is what you wanted?”

“I tried to tell you, Jack, every time you asked.”

“No, you kept saying you have everything you want.”

“Exactly. I already have the most important gift in the world because all I want for Christmas is you.”

End

***** 

Bore da, Cariad – Good morning, Beloved  
Cysgwch yn dda – Sleep well  
Nadolig Ilawen, Annwyl – Happy Christmas, Dear


End file.
